


i dreamed a dance

by cabinfever



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Masquerade Ball, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabinfever/pseuds/cabinfever
Summary: Of all the things that Ignis Scientia could possibly be horrible at, he’d never imagined that he’d be unlucky enough to have it be dancing.





	i dreamed a dance

**Author's Note:**

> written for ignoct week day 3: masquerade.

Of all the things that Ignis Scientia could possibly be horrible at, he’d never imagined that he’d be unlucky enough to have it be  _ dancing.  _

Formal dancing, at that. Every court official must be well-learned in the art of wining and dining and impressing, and dancing is the means to that end. This should be right in the middle of the venn diagram of Ignis’s talents and ambitions.

It’s not.

 

\---

 

Noct tries his best to help.

It’s just, well-

He’s used to it being the other way around. But they have a masquerade in a week, and it’s Ignis’s first time attending one while not being on duty. Now that Noct’s eighteen, he doesn’t officially need any sort of escort during these parties, so Ignis is free to enjoy himself. The problem with that, though, is that Ignis has apparently never formally danced.

They can work around that. They can.

Or at least, Noct hopes so.

Noct’s leading this time, trying his best to walk Ignis through the steps. The problem, however, is that Ignis isn’t as quick a study at this as he usually is.

“Specs.”

“Yes, Noct?” He’s frowning.

Noct carefully lifts Ignis’s hand and places it on his shoulder, smiling faintly when Ignis’s fingers tighten in the fabric of his royal uniform. “Your hand goes here.”

Ignis’s eyebrows furrow even further. “I thought it went-”

“I’m leading,” Noct reminds him. “We can try to switch it up if you want?”

“No, it’s-” Ignis cuts himself off and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s fine. We’ve done enough for today.”

“You know quite a bit.”

“Princes go to more balls than advisors, I guess.” Noct shrugs. “But you’re there when I’m there. You like to watch people.”

“I like to watch  _ you, _ Noct.”

Noct flashes a wolfish grin. “Explains why you never learned a thing. Too busy looking at-”

“Noct.” Ignis is turning a very interesting shade of red.  _ “Regardless,  _ I have never had the practical experience I work...behind the scenes.”

“Consider it practice for when you’re the king’s advisor, then.”

“I suppose so.”

Noct shrugs. “You’ll do fine. I’m sure. Just practice this week and you’ll blow them all away.”

“Will I be able to steal a dance?” Ignis asks, and his hand on Noct’s shoulder tightens, thumb stroking along the line of Noct’s collarbone. “Your Highness?”

“I can make time,” Noct teases, “but I’ll have to have my advisor write it into my schedule for the night.”

Ignis huffs out a little laugh, breathy and quiet. “That can be arranged, I believe. I’ll be wearing-”

Noct holds up a finger to Ignis’s lips, silencing him immediately. “No, don’t tell me. Finding out is half the fun.”

Ignis stares at him for a few heartbeats. Then his eyes go warm and he smiles against the light pressure of Noct’s finger. “A surprise, then,” he agrees, and he lifts his hand to hold Noct’s wrist in place, pressing a kiss to Noct’s fingers, and then to his forehead, and then to his cheek. He pauses with his face held mere inches from Noct’s, looking at him with that same soft smile on his lips.

Noct tilts his head up to meet Ignis’s eyes. “The hell are you stopping for?” he asks.

Ignis grins. “Apologies,” he murmurs, and he’s so close that Noct can feel the low vibrations of his voice. “Merely admiring the view.”

“Get on with it, then.”

Ignis does. 

Noct forgets about the dancing.

A week comes and goes without much incidence. Noct has exams, which is miserable, but Prompto does too, so they end up spending most of their time in his apartment studying. Gladio stops by Ignis reminds him to go to his fitting for his suit and mask. It’s business as usual, if a little boring, but Noct’s not complaining.

The night of the masquerade, the halls are covered in trappings of black and gold, strikingly beautiful against the pale marble of the Citadel’s walls. Noct fidgets beside one of the massive glassy windows, watching dark cars pull around to the front of the Citadel. Diplomats emerge, wearing their best finery. And of course, the masks.

Noct tugs at the ribbon on around his own head, checking that it’s strapped on correctly. In the window, against the growing darkness outside, he can manage to see enough of his own reflection to check it out. It’s one of his better looks for this gala, if he’s being honest. Usually, he’s just request a black mask with gold filigree on the edges and call it a day. This time, though, he’s not sure. Maybe he has something to prove this time.

It’s still on the subtle side, not so obnoxious that Noct would feel too looked at, but. Well. He’s not going to be humble about it: he looks good. The mask is silver this time, twisting in a dense network of delicate wire in an undulating, elegant wave. The mask maker has insisted that it has elements of the stone wings of the island of Angelgard, and Noct doesn’t know enough about it to dispute it. The whole arrangement is sparsely dotted with dark sapphires that gleam in the lights of the ballroom. It’s not a crown, but it’s close enough. His suit matches it in a blue so dark that it’d nearly be black if not for the way some of the blue threads shine in the lights.

It’s nice. Noct doesn’t hate it.

There’s his dad, of course. King Regis had to remove his mask so that the people would recognize him when he welcomed them all to the ball. Not that it’d be much of a secret anyway. He’s leaning on his gold and black cane, and nobody can quite wear a leg brace that’s as beautifully crafted as his. He’s the one wearing a simple mask this time; Noct’s privately glad that the mask hides the faint red lines on his father’s face that show the toll that the Wall takes on him.

Gladio’s here too, whispering with Iris off to the side of the ballroom. This is Iris’s first time at this particular masquerade, and she’s immediately recognizable in her dark red gown and black mask. Gladio’s wearing a proper suit for once, and even from across the room, Noct’s impressed by how well Gladio can clean up when he actually tries. They look like proper nobility, for all that they usually try to hide it. Noct waves to them and even offers a half-smile.

But he can’t recognize Ignis anywhere. 

He’s searching for Ignis’s characteristic honey-brown hair, shining in a carefully combed arrangement against his forehead. That, and the glasses, and the waistcoat. That’s Ignis: familiar and refined.

Noct can’t find him. In the sea of extravagance and pride and anonymity, there’s nothing that seems distinctly  _ Ignis. _

He doesn’t give up hope. 

Much of the night is spent, as it always is, making nice with the diplomats. There are the usual Insomnian representatives, usually identifiable by their voices or by the ways that they bow too low to him, or not at all. Noct swallows his pride and dances with them anyway. It’s only one night, after all.

Some of the others are from outside the Wall, which is getting rarer and rarer. The people from Lucis proper - one of them is from Lestallum, apparently - all have wide eyes behind their masks. There’s not really anywhere like Insomnia anywhere else in the world, and the gods only know that it’s near-impossible to get in. These Lucians are wearing fashion that’s at least two decades out of date, and that’s only with Noct’s limited knowledge of anything to do with court fashion. They’re pleasant enough to him, though, as long as Noct tries his best to ignore the veiled disdain in their voices. He tries not to blame them for it. It’s not their fault that the Wall has abandoned them.

A Galahdian ambassador’s daughter shyly asks him to dance, and Noct’s pleasantly surprised by how quick she is. Normally, he’d only dance for one song per person, but he likes her wit and her resilience in the face of ruling a dying nation. They make good enough conversation, and though Noct smiles when he bids her farewell, he can’t help but feel a little sad.

The whole time, he’s keeping an eye on the dance floor, searching for Ignis.

There’s someone, off to the side, in the middle of a polite conversation with two others. Even though those two are wearing extravagant, expensive dresses, Noct can’t help but stare at the man. He’s wearing a black suit that must have been hand-tailored. It makes his legs look ten miles long, leading up along the long planes of his torso to a dark green cravat, then up to a clean-shaven face, a simple black and green mask, and hair that’s been gelled up into a carefully held wave of honey-brown hair.

Noct hesitates. It’s unfamiliar. He’s never seen hair quite like that.

He doesn’t think he minds.

The man leans in and says something into the ear of one of the women, and she nods eagerly before the man takes her hand and leads her onto the dance floor.

Curious and enamored, Noct watches.

It’s certainly not the best dance he’s ever seen. It looks entirely incongruent with the elegant legginess and poise of the man in the mask. For the most part, though, he holds his own, easily guiding his partner across the dance floor. The lights of the ballroom catch on the briefest glimmer of green from behind his black mask when he No, he’s definitely not the best.

But Noct keeps watching.

And there it is - a slight hesitation in the final step of the combination. The foot placement is just slightly wrong, and the masked man just barely avoids stepping on his partner’s toes.

Noct winces at the near-miss. But then he smiles.

There he is.

He peels away from whatever corporate executive is trying to talk his ear off, muttering a quick farewell that’s definitely not adequate. He can’t be bothered, really.

He makes his way straight across the dance floor to where his current target has just finished his dance. He’s bowing lightly to his dance partner, smiling politely at something she’s saying. He really does have the most perfect teeth.

“May I?” he asks, glancing from the man to his current partner and back again. He knows it’s merely a formality. Nobody would dare refuse the crown prince, and they all know who he is anyway.

The woman blushes red around her pale blue mask. “Of course, Your Highness,” he murmurs, and she dips into a curtsy before sweeping away to rejoin her companion at the edge of the dance floor.

“Well,” Noct’s new partner murmurs, arching his graceful neck to speak in Noct’s ear, “it took you some time.”

“Not my fault you look so different,” Noct counters. “I was hoping it was you.”

Ignis laughs, low and quiet, “What would you have done if it wasn’t?”

“Suppose we’ll never know.”

“The blue looks wonderful,” Ignis tells him, leading Noct to the center of the dance floor. “Brings out your eyes, but you already knew that.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.”

Ignis grins. “Touché.”

Noct reaches for Ignis’s waist, but Ignis stops him, tutting quietly.

“What?” Noct asks. “Something wrong?”

“I’ll lead,” Ignis says, and there’s a flash of determination in his eyes. Without glasses in front of them, his eyes are shockingly bright. Noct’s used to only seeing them like this in private, where he has Ignis to himself. To see him like this, here and unfamiliarly elegant but entirely beautiful, is something Noct didn’t know he wanted until now. Now, he’s not eager to give it up.

Noct nods. “Have it your way,” he replies.

Ignis smiles. He splays his fingers along the curve of Noct’s back, resting his grasp at the small of his back. He tugs Noct a bit closer and takes Noct’s hand in his own, holding them together. Noct returns the grin and raises his hand to rest on Ignis’s shoulder. 

A new song begins - something elegant and light on the strings - and Ignis begins the combination, taking Noct across the dance floor in careful, controlled steps. There’s a grace to his movements that hadn’t been there when Noct had been practicing with him, like Ignis is more comfortable in his skin. Noct closes his eyes for a moment, allowing the easy rhythm of the dance to lull him into security and peace. This is...surprisingly nice.

Noct resolves to not dance with anyone else tonight. This is all he needs.

He tilts his head up to meet Ignis’s eyes. “What did you do with your hair?”

There’s a little glimmer of satisfaction from behind the dark lines of the mask. Against the black and silver, the green of Ignis’s eyes is striking. “Something new,” he says. “I figured it might be time for a change.”

“Keep doing that,” Noct tells him. “I like it.”

“As His Highness wishes,” Ignis tells him smoothly, and Noct’s stomach swoops in that curious way it does whenever Ignis’s voice talks to him with reverence.

Or maybe the swooping feeling is in the way Ignis sweeps him across the dance floor, a little clumsy but entirely earnest, and that’s what counts.

Noct grins when he regains his breath. “Never thought you had it in you.”

“I put in some practice.”

“All by yourself?” He privately hopes so. There’s something endearing about the idea of Ignis quietly humming along to a waltz while working through the steps in his bedroom.

Ignis shakes his head; his lips curve into a small smile. “In the training rooms, actually.”

“Dancing by yourself?” Noctis teases. “Or with Gladio?”

“The latter,” Ignis replies. Noctis deflates for a moment, but then Ignis smoothly continues, “In a way, at least. We traded pleasantries for weapons.”

Noct nearly stops them in the middle of their combination. “You’re telling me that you learned how to dance-”

“I always knew  _ how,  _ Noct-”

“By trying to kill Gladio?” Noct huffs out a laugh, grinning at the indignation in the set of Ignis’s lips. “But of course you would.”

“How am I doing?” For just a moment, Ignis

“Perfectly,” Noct tells him. It’s not an entire lie.

“Allow me to sweep you off your feet, then.”

Noct grins. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ignis does.

And hey, it’s not perfect. Ignis still isn’t the best dancer. Noct’s not exactly a professional either, if he really admits it. 

But it’s him and Ignis. It’s them, anonymous and laughing, spiraling across the dance floor, and Noct won’t trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr [here!](http://www.triplehelix.tumblr.com)


End file.
